


Ambulatory

by Venturous



Series: There's Still Time [4]
Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Chickens, Gen, Healing, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Felina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:07:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Venturous/pseuds/Venturous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: this fic is now updated, complete and included in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4566828">There's Still Time</a></p><p> </p><p>Walter gets better. Jesse gets quiet. There are chickens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ambulatory

Life at Morelia was so simple and good as to become surreal for Walter, after the terrible drama of his recent life. There were long evenings of singing crickets, good simple food, and deep long sleeping.

Jesse got up and left each morning, returning at suppertime, dusty and tired. He didn’t talk much, and Walt didn’t pry. They each had their work to do, apparently, although Walt never asked and Jesse never offered what his daily work was. Walter decided he didn’t want to know.

To build strength he began by walking slowly around the house. In the cool of the morning he’d begin, stiff and halting. At first he had to rest part way, on the stone ledge by the pump. While he sat there, embarrassed by how hard he was breathing, the chickens approached and gathered in a semi circle near his feet. They were clearly expecting something.

“I suppose I must tip you, considering all the fine breakfasts you have provided.” He told them. The cocked their feathered heads. “But today I have nothing. Nada.”

Holding out his hands and turning them over, the birds crowded in excitedly, then made disgruntled noises as they realized naught was forthcoming.

Rosa appeared, took in the scene. She began to laugh, scolding the birds.

“Vamoose, greedy hens! Señor White must rest!”

When she scattered the cracked corn for them they hurried in the direction of her gesture, scratching for the golden bits.

She looked concerned, but Walter waved at her in dismissal. She seemed to understand his pride and left him to his chicken-watching.

When he did arise, it was painful once more, and he moved stiffly. Shuffling awkwardly Walt sighed in frustration. Speeding up, he huffed for breath as he rounded the north side of the house, in sight of the veranda. A cough rose up, refusing to be held down, and he stumbled onto the porch and clutched the bed. Bent over, he hacked in ragged, croaking gasps.

He wanted to cry. Looking about for Rosa, he buried his face in his hands and breathed hitching gasps and coughs, willing the hot tears not to fall. So they burned in his eyes, and his heart ached.

Walt remembered the last time he felt this miserably ill, at home. Skyler had spent the night on the floor with him. He longed for the tenderness of that moment now. He could remember how she smelled, the smell of the house, the bathroom rug. He thought this was the most pathetic thing, his longing for that cheap rug, and her kind touch.

==== 

In time he could ambulate around the house several times without pausing. 

Rosa equipped him with scratch so he could satisfy the chickens, although sometimes they chased him for more. She showed him where to look for eggs: near a fencepost, beside a big rock, in a tuft of grass. He enjoyed the discovery, and the heft of the warm egg in his hand. Something real, solid. Life, for him to eat, or that might grow into a fine bird.

TBC...

 


End file.
